Poot and Cubby

Dear child:

Cc: Father of stubborn child

Re: The fiasco that was last night

I am writing you this letter to recount the events of last night as I am certain that your temporary insanity has affected your memory. In doing so, I hope to drown you in crippling Mother-Guilt so that we can avoid a repeat performance in the future.

First of all, I apologize for daring to escape the house last night for a ridiculous 2 hours of adult conversation and knitting. It was an obvious attempt to throw you into the tempting arms of rebellion, while asking your father to join you in conspiring against me. (Note to blog readers: More on last night’s knitting to follow tomorrow. Suffice it to say, it was pure bliss and joy. Neither of which belongs in this dreadful post…)

After a relaxing evening, I intended to ride my delight all the way back to my quiet house. Instead, I opened the door to a weary husband, who grumpily informed me that he could not get you to go to sleep. Clearly, he was speaking an English dialect to which I was unfamiliar, as I needed to ask him, “What do you mean, you can’t get her to sleep?”

Exasperated, I grumbled to myself about how everything ultimately becomes my bloody responsibility and trudged up the stairs to your bedroom. I found you pacing the floor and upon seeing me, you deemed it necessary to repeatedly give your side of the story, complete with elaborate hand gestures: “Daddy said no wake up. I said can’t sleep. I read story. I drink juice.” I put on my authoritative mommy face (which, thank God, you haven’t realized is a total bluff) and ordered you back into bed. Obviously, your poor father had muddled the bedtime routine and sent your internal clock into a tizzy. I would set things right by singing and rubbing your belly. Why then, after singing myself hoarse, did I need to put up with you crying for more? In the future I would appreciate you skipping this step in the extended bedtime ritual.

When I was certain I had placed you on the train to Sleepy Town, I smugly left the room. At least someone in this house knows how to get things done efficiently! After more than half an hour of quiet, I decided to look in on you only to find you reading a book. In the dark. As adorable as it is that you would risk blindness by attempting to read by the feeble rays of your nightlight (oh, your love of books cannot be over-emphasized!), I was a bit taken aback by this turn of events. You assured me that you had stayed in bed (as ordered), and that it was perfectly reasonable to try and read as you were suffering from an odd bout of insomnia (not in those words, exactly, but that was the gist). Thrilled that you were at least in bed and not crying, I hugged you goodnight and left the room without incident.

Then at 11:00 (11:00 PM!) your father checked on you, and caught you continuing to model the joys of early literacy. Honey, you have read that book a thousand times! The ending is not a nail-biting, I-just-have-to-stay-up-and-finish-this-to-find-out-what-happens, kind of read.  In case your memory really is that short, I will end the suspense: After planning her birthday party, the mouse and her friends all gorge themselves on chocolate cake. Now, will you please, please, GO. TO. SLEEP.

Getting the signal from daddy that it was playtime, you came and hung out with us in bed, because that always calms you down. If you note an overtone of sarcasm in the last sentence, it is because both you and I know that our bed does not induce peaceful slumber; it promotes late-night rowdy partying. After a raucous game of Pull Mommy’s Hair While Poking Her in the Eyes, Giggling, and Simultaneously Giving Daddy Welt-Raising Slaps on his Back, you were dragged back to your room (by your mother, of course, lest your father get any less than the 7 hours of sleep that is so clearly his male birthright.) But not before I asked him how he broke my child and interrogated him about the possibility that you both consumed questionable amounts of espresso during my absence.

After returning to the Torturous Chamber of Eternal Wakefulness, I tried in vain to rock you to sleep. Because dammit, if routine, and reason fail, I opt for the hypnotizing effect of rhythmic movement. After half an hour of me deluding myself that I was lulling you to sleep, I abandoned you in your bed. At midnight. Eyes wide requesting to read more stories. God knows how long you read or planned your next conspiracy against your well-meaning mother.

I think we can both agree that the events of last night cannot be repeated, if only to allow me to prolong my intense denial that in about 4 months I will be subjected to sleep deprivation more frustrating than this. That soon I will be praying for the continually interrupted 6 hours of sleep that I had last night. Let’s pretend that you are a big girl and that you like sleep as much as I do. You don’t even have to do it for my sake – it can be for entirely selfish reasons. I know you don’t enjoy waking up as a whiny zombie with impressive tear-output.  Or returning home after your napless (!) day at daycare to commence vibrating, snotty, shrieking seizures due to your massive over-tiredness.  That’s just not a good look for anyone.

Regards,

Mama